Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
by melancholymuppet
Summary: Loosely follows the plot of the show, with an OC thrown into the mix. An eventual Dean/OC, with a touch of Sam/OC just for the drama of it all. Work in progress. Please Review!
1. Bob Dylan's Blues

Abigail Adams sat at her desk trying to motivate her self to care, even a little, about the programming exam she had coming up. She stared determinately at her computer screen, the blink of the cursor on the blank screen mocking her ineptitude. _Come on, Abby, its important. This is you future! Can't screw this up, need to concentrate…_

"Abby! Your phone!"

"Oh, thank God," Abby sighed, relieved at any distraction. Jumping up, she ran to the kitchen of the little two-room flat she shared with her roommate Jen, sliding on socked feet on the faux hardwood floors around the corner.

Jen was Abby's closest friend. They were both students at the University of Chicago, and had pretty much nothing else in common. Jen was a petite blonde blue-eyed flirt of an English major, with perfectly styled hair and a seriously stocked closet. Her shoe collection could put anyone to shame. At this moment, she was sitting at the kitchen table, a stack of books ignored for the sake of painting her toes an alarming shade of pink.

Abby, on the other hand, was a computing major with an unruly mass of brown waves ('No, you may not straighten my hair, Jen!) and a pair of thick-framed glasses over grey eyes ('I have contacts Jen, I just don't feel like wearing them!').

While Jen was wearing a pretty cardigan and a cute pair of jeans, Abby was sporting an oversized Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and a pair of old men's shorts. So stylish, as always. But regardless of their differences, Jen and Abby got along fabulously, each one grounding the other to make a happy medium.

Abby slid into the kitchen, grabbing her vibrating phone from the table and flipping it open dramatically. She grinned at Jen, waggling her eyebrows and ruffling her roommate's perfect hair. Jen rolled her eyes but smiled back, not even bothering to fix her hair before continuing with her toes.

"Halloo," the brunette sang into the phone, "this is Abby!"

There was a brief clamour of commotion on the other end of the line, and what sounded like a muted scuffle, before a man's voice came on the other end.

"Uh…is this Abigail Adams?" mystery man asked, his voice deep and slightly out of breath. Jen perked up at hearing a man on the other end of the phone. _'Who is that?_' she mouthed, surprised at the idea of a man calling her dorky and somewhat socially inept friend. Abby found this shock somewhat insulting, and stuck out her tongue at her friend before heading back to her room. Jen clucked in disappointment. Abby knew she'd need to describe in detail each moment to her roommate later on.

"This is she! Please, call me Abby!"

"Okay. Uh. Hi, Abby."

"Hey!" An awkward silence followed.

Abby flopped onto her bed, starting to get a bit impatient, "Can I help you with anything, buddy?" _If he starts breathing heavily I'm going to have to get angry_.

"Uh, yeah. I mean I hope so. My name's Sam Winchester. I think you may have known my father, John?"

Abby sat up abruptly, surprised. "Yeah, I know John Winchester. Great guy!"

Sam interrupted, "You wouldn't have heard from him recently, have you?"

"Sorry, last time I saw him was about three weeks ago. You're saying he's your father? I never even knew John had kids."

She could almost hear this Sam guy's wry grin. "Yeah, I don't think he would have talked about me much. Listen, I'm calling because I found your name in Dad's journal under the heading 'Research Help', and I'm guessing that since he can barely work a toaster he must have had some help in doing the more technical side of research. I was hoping you might be able to help us out too. Me and my brother Dean, that is."

Abby grinned at his rambling. A distraction from that godforsaken exam! She hadn't heard from John in while and had missed all the supernatural paraphernalia she got to look into. It was more fun than programming, at least. She switched from her cell to a headset, and scooted onto her desk chair, spinning to her laptop.

"Of course, Sam. What can I help you with?"

"Can you look up some information on the Roosevelt Asylum in Rockford, Illinois?"

Abby was typing before Sam even finished speaking, cradling her phone on her shoulder.

"Do you want me to email you the info?" she asked, eyes scanning and fingers tapping away. She had compiled a pretty thorough database when working with John, and had a programme that made finding out nearly everything weird in the world a person could want to know like a walk in the park.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great. Maybe read it out, too? I'll put you on speakerphone."

She heard a beep, and another man's voice came on. " – still think this is a shitty idea, Sam. What? Oh, shit. Uh, hi." This voice was gruffer than the last, and sounded at least somewhat embarrassed about being caught bad-mouthing the girl on the other end of the line.

"You must be Dean," Abby made her tone as friendly and unthreatening as possible. She knew these hunter types tended to be a bit paranoid. Bubbly charm usually did the trick. "Don't worry man, I think this is pretty weird. But I've done research for plenty of hunters, and I've yet to get a complaint!"

There was such silence on the other end that Abby started to get concerned that the call had been dropped.

"Uh…whaddya mean by 'hunters'?" asked Dean finally, sounding cautious.

Abby mentally smacked herself, hands stilling on her keyboard. "Oh, man. I mean…I assumed that since your Dad…wait, what do you need me to look up?" How awkward, she really needs to learn to stop and think before she speaks. _Did I just out their father as a hunter?_

"You, uh, know about hunters, then?" asked Sam, tentatively.

"Werewolves, shifters and ghosts, oh my? Yeah, I know."

"Well, that makes things easier then, I guess. Yeah, we're hunters," said Dean.

Abby sighed in relief, "Well, now that that awkwardness is over…" she heard Dean chuckle, "…I can tell you about Roosevelt Asylum."

Abby read off the seven unconfirmed sightings and two deaths in the past, describing the apparent cop murder-suicide that had happened a few days before. She skimmed through local newspaper archives, and found that in 1972 three kids broke into the south wing. There was only one survivor. After a bit more typing, Abby found something really interesting.

"Oh, this is good. Back in 1964, the patients in the south wing, the criminally insane, y'know, they rioted. Attacked the staff and each other."

Dean sounded interested. "Any deaths?"

"Some patients, some staff. It sounds pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including the chief of staff, a Dr. Sanford Ellicott."

"Whaddya mean, never recovered?" asked Dean.

Abby was about to answer when Sam interrupted.

"This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job." She could tell that this wasn't directed towards her.

Abby heard Dean reply, sounding excited, "Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?"

"Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing." Sam sounded angry, and Abby got the distinct feeling that she was listening in on an exceedingly personal conversation.

"Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!"

Abby felt that maybe this would be a good time to remind them of her presence. "Hey, uh…can I get any more info for you guys?" She asked awkwardly.

There was a brief pause, and it was obvious that they had definitely forgotten that she was there.

Sam spoke up, voice overly chipper. "No, Abby, thanks! We'll give you a call if we need anything else." There was a click as the phone disconnected.

"Alrighty then," Abby said to herself, removing the headset and ruffling her hair. What a weird interaction that was. At least she now had someone to research the fun stuff for. It had been weeks since John last called, and Marty and Wade hadn't called in forever. She missed the excitement of looking up the weird of the world.

With a crack of her fingers she sank back into her research, determined to refresh her memory in case she was needed again. The fact that it would take all night and would leave no time for exam studying? That was a bonus.

It was a week before Abby heard from a Winchester again, and this time around it was John.

"Hey Abby," the warm, familiar voice spoke.

"John! Its great to hear from you! I spoke to your boys last week," she paused, worried about overstepping, but asked anyways. "I've never really heard you talk about them. They seem to be looking for you?"

"Yeah hun, don't worry about that. I'll be calling them tomorrow morning with a job. That's what I need your help with." His voice was still warm, but Abby knew enough about the man to know that he meant _we're not talking about that anymore, _and she conceded.

She pulled her hair up into a bun and switched to her headset, "Of course. What can I do for ya, John?"

It turned out he was looking into some disappearances of couples in small town Indiana. Some real Jeepers Creepers stuff. Abby got him some names from the archives of local papers and may have hacked into the police database, but got him the information he needed. And that was that. Not much for purposeless niceties, John.

The next afternoon, Dean Winchester called.

"Hey, Abby? Its Dean." He still sounded not quite sure about why he was calling her, or whether it would be well received.

"Hey Dean! She was trying to sound as cheerful as possible. This guy really needed to relax; he should know that she was here to help. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, well I was hoping you might know something about Pagan ideology."

Abby started typing. "Alright, no problem. I love me some Pagan ideology. What about it?"

It turned out that Dean needed to know about 'Vanir,' the Norse gods of protection and prosperity who were known for keeping their local settlements safe from harm.

"Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female." Abby stopped. Well, that made John's call last night much more understandable.

"And do you think this particular Vanir can get its energy sprung from a sacred tree?"

Abby leaned back, ruffling her curls as she thought, "Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic. It might just work."

"Thanks, Abby." He sounded much calmer now, and Abby grinned to herself. Progress!

"No problem, Dean."

Over the next month, Abby took about half a dozen calls from the Winchester boys, and with each one they seemed to get more comfortable chatting. It's funny how phone calls can be more comfortable than face-to-face interactions.

The boys were less mysterious than their father, and occasionally mentioned facts about themselves. Abby learnt that Sam had gone to Stanford, pre-law, and he was excited when he found out she was at University of Chicago. They discussed the merits of academic life for a while, and Abby got the impression that he was pretty starved for university discussions. Dean usually interrupted these conversations; Abby thought maybe he felt a bit left out, and Sam brought up hair rock just to get Dean back into the conversation.

Dean, Abby found out, had what one might call a 'strong personality.' On their third or fourth conversation they got into an argument over bands. And Abby really wasn't the type to argue with anyone, usually opting for a you-have-your-opinion-and-I-have-mine approach. But Dean would just piss her off.

"Listen, Dean, I'm not saying ACDC isn't without merit," she tried to be diplomatic, "but there's just no comparing to Bob Dylan."

"Are you kidding me? The guy can't sing! Only pretentious hipsters would prefer Bob Dylan to some good _Back in Black_"

"Its not about the singing, dick, its quality. Dylan writes poetry, ACDC writes pop lyrics about boobs and butts." He was infuriatingly one-track minded.

"Oh, man, take that back you heathen-" Before Dean could finish his expletive Sam interrupted to make peace. And so it went, Dean and Abby scrapping over music and Sam and Abby discussing their favorite books in-between research and hunting.

Jen, being the nosy friend she was, wanted to hear about the mysterious men who were suddenly calling at all hours. Abby told her that they were just some old family friends who needed help with their research. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but Abby still felt guilty.

She hated lying to her best, and well, more or less only, friend. But you can't just spring ghosts and ghouls on some unsuspecting civilian. John had taught her at least that much.

Abby was born in 1984 in Jackson, Mississippi to Anne and Jake Adams. On her sixth birthday, her parents were killed by a demon that was presumably just looking for kicks. Abby didn't really remember much about it, other than that she would have died as well if it weren't for John Winchester. What she does vividly remember is being carried away from her burning house in a pair of strong arms, kicking and screaming for her mother. After that, John had brought her to an orphanage in Tennessee.

Even though John could have washed his hands free of her at that point, he didn't. He stopped by a couple times each year, checking up on her, bringing books and crazy stories. He also brought Abby her first laptop, although she was always pretty sure he had come by it by dishonest means. It didn't seem like John had much in the world, other than his beat up Impala.

Although by no means a father figure, he had been both a friend and one of the few constant relationships she had in her life. He had never really spoken much about his personal life, and Abby didn't press. She always knew it wasn't really her business, anyways. Abby still smiles whenever she thinks of how he seemed proud when she got into U of C, how in gruff words he affirmed that he knew she could do it.

And since then, Abby tried to help him out whenever she could. He had never lied to her about how her parents died, and Abby grew up knowing about all the things that went bump in the night. While the supernatural had never been the center of her life like it seemed to be for John and his boys, it was something she was comfortable involving herself in from a distance. That is, until the Winchesters brought it to her.


	2. I Shall Be Free

Sam sat down at a table in a noisy, dark bar. He looked around for his brother before opening his Dad's notebook.

Dean, apparently finished with his attempts at picking up the bartender, came to plunk down in the seat across from his brother.

"I talked to the bartender."

Sam looked up from the article he was reading, only partly interested, "Did you get anything? Besides her number?"

Dean looked affronted. "Dude, I'm a professional. I'm offended that you would think that"

Sam gave his brother a knowing, and unimpressed, look.

"All right, yeah." Dean chuckled and held up the napkin with a phone number written on it. He grinned proudly.

"You mind doin' a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?"

"Huh? Look, there's nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she got torn apart in her locked apartment, so—" he shrugged. Weird cases were nothing new to them. "What about that symbol, you find anything?"

"Nope, nothing. It wasn't in Dad's journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess. Or, y'know, call Abby…" Sam rubbed the back of his neck, pointedly avoiding meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean smirked wolfishly at his little brother. "You sly dog, you want to talk to the phone chick. Dude, you don't even know what she looks like, how could you be crushing already?"

Sam flushed and looked away, "I'm not crushing, dick. She's just a big help. Don't deny it, man, she's saved us so much time." He looked at Dean pointedly, "And you like her too, don't even lie."

Dean shrugged, lifting his beer to his mouth, "Yeah, she's alright. Other than her terrible taste in music. Bob Dylan," Dean faked a shudder, and gulped his beer. He glanced at Sam. "She goes to school in Chicago, doesn't she? Do you want to make a visit?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked unsure. He had thought about it a few times since they had arrived in town. "Well that would that be weird, though, right? Can't we just call her?"

Dean smiled and grabbed his keys. "Nah, its work. We'll save some money on phone bills. Plus, which chick wouldn't be thrilled to have this show up at her doorstep," he flashed a grin at Sam and gestured to himself dramatically, "Come on, Sammy, her address is in Dad's book. I know she's not too far. Let's go pay lil' Abby a visit!"

Before they could leave, though, Sam spotted a familiar face.

"Meg?"

Sam had met the girl weeks ago when investigating the missing couples in rural Illinois. They had bonded when Sam left his brother in anger. It was still a sensitive subject, and he hadn't thought he'd see the girl again. The blonde in question spun around, and smiled. "Sam! Is that you? Oh my God!" She stood up and wrapped her arms around a confused looking Sam.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking up at him.

'I'm just in town, visiting a friend," Sam answered quickly, still pretty shocked to see her.

Meg looked around, "Where are they?"

"Uh, our friend is Abigail Adams, goes to school here. Maybe you know her?" Sam mentally slapped himself, and felt Dean's elbow jab into his side. Why the hell would he tell her that? Come, on, Sam, get your shit together. He changed the subject, hoping to get the slip up behind them, "But what about you, Meg? I thought you were goin' to California?"

"Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what's-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar."

After some awkward chit-chat and a seriously pissed off Dean, Sam got Meg's number, "We've, uh, got to go see our friend now," he said, edging away.

"Oh, yeah, Abigail Adams, right?" She grinned, eyes narrowing. Sam felt a shiver run down his back. Not good. He hastily said his farewells and the brothers left the bar.

"Who the hell was she?" Asked Dean once they got outside.

"I don't really know. I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don't know, man, it's weird. I think there's somethin' strange going on here, Dean."

Dean looked at his brother, knowing him well enough to trust his instincts. "And you told her Abby's name. Great! We don't have much in the way of friends, Sammy, and at this rate we won't have many more."

"Well, there must be dozens of Abigail Adams' in Chicago, right?"

Dean grudgingly agreed before changing the subject, "Still wasn't a smart move, man. Now lets go meet the girl, shall we?"

Jen was getting ready for a party, and trying to get Abby to join. Without much success.

"Come on Abby! It'll be fun, I _promise._"

Abby rolled her grey eyes from the couch and went back to her worn copy of _Slaughterhouse 5_. "Yeah, that what you said last time," she looked up to Jen before turning the page, "and need I remind you it absolutely was _not_ a fun time."

Jen sighed dramatically, adjusting her strapless dress in the mirror, "Okay, so admittedly the frat party was a bad idea. But this is at Steve's place, they'll be no Jello wrestling." She sent her roommate a sly look, raising a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow. "You know Steve still likes you, Abby."

Abby didn't even bother looking up from her book this time. "Well, I don't like him," she stated firmly, "He thinks the Rolling Stones are overrated," she added, voice incredulous over how someone could say such a thing.

"Well don't be such a snob, you don't need to marry the guy," Jen flipped her hair and put a hand onto her hip, ready to dive into an argument over Abby's lack of a love life, when the door buzzer sounded. She pointed a baby pink fingernail at Abby, _this isn't over, missy_ clear on her face, before walking over to the intercom.

Abby just grinned and had a swig of her beer. She was an expert at dodging conversations about romance.

"Who is it?" Jen crooned into the intercom, still primping her blonde locks.

"Uh hey, this is Sam Winchester. I'm with my brother Dean. We're here to see Abby Adams?"

Jen spun to Abby, blue eyes wide.

Abby almost dropped her beer. "_Holy shit._ They're here. They're here? Why are they here?"

"Who are they? Those guys you've been calling? Should I buzz them up?"

"Yeah. No. No! Wait," Abby tried to smooth down her hair, knowing that it was useless. Her hair had never obeyed her before, and she doubted that it would start now. She had just never met any hunters before, excluding John of course. She wanted to make a good impression.

Jen ran over to help, yanking Abby's oversized hoodie over her head while her roommate yelped in protest. Abby slapped Jen's hands away and slid over to the intercom, slightly out of breath, and buzzed the brothers up.

Abby only had the chance to send Jen a panicked look, throwing her hair into a loose bun, before the knock on the door. Opening it tentatively, Abby felt distinctly like she got hit over the head with a bat.

_Sam and Dean are some _seriously_ hot guys_.


	3. Girl From the (South) Country

Sam wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the girl who answered the door certainly was not it.

She was about 5"5, Sam would guess, with a mass of brown hair falling out of a bun. Even with her flushed cheeks he could see a smattering of freckles. Big grey eyes blinked up at them from behind black glasses.

He looked over at Dean, and saw his brother's gaze trace up the pale legs and smirk at the heart-patterned boxer shorts.

"Hey, Abby?" Sam smiled at the girl, who looked a bit stunned.

She blinked at them both for a second more, before shaking herself. "Uh, hi. Hi! Sam, right? So nice to finally meet you."

He got hit with a mega-watt smile, and grinning back, shook her small hand. Abby turned to Dean and repeated the niceties, and invited them inside.

The apartment was small, but nice. A blonde girl, petite and perky, almost skipped up to them, speaking a mile a minute while flipping blonde hair. Totally Dean's type, Sam thought wryly. But in looking over, he saw Dean warily watching Abby as she walked over to the fridge.

"So, guys, can I get you beers?" She interrupted her rambling roommate, and brought the brothers a bottle each. They all stood in the kitchen somewhat awkwardly before Abby spoke up again.

"Uh, I'm assuming you guys are here for something business related," she raised her eyebrows, "why don't we head to my room to talk about it?"

Jen spun to Abby, and Sam could almost feel the innuendo drift off her grin. Dean smirked, and Abby blushed. "Its work, Jen!" she hissed, striding off down the hall.

Dean met his brother's gaze and shrugged, trailing after the girl. Sam raised his beer in farewell to the blonde in the kitchen and followed.

Abby led the two gorgeous men to her bedroom, and wondering if she'd ever be able to make that statement again.

She almost forgot her nervousness as she watched the ridiculous sight of Dean and Sam sitting gingerly on her fuchsia bedspread.

"So guys," she sat at her desk chair, and felt calmer. She was in her zone. "What can I find for you? I'm guessing this wasn't just a courtesy call?" Abby sent them another smile; John used to say she could get away with murder with one grin, and she hoped it might help them relax. Sam smiled back. Dean didn't.

"Yeah, we're looking into some murders that have gone on in town," said Dean, somewhat gruffly. He ran down the details of the two murders they had heard about, and handed her a sketch of the symbol they found at the scene.

Abby grabbed the paper, narrowing her eyes, "I've seen this symbol before…hold on," her fingers danced across her keyboard, eyes scanning the screen as she skimmed through pages of research, checking keywords and possible origins quicker than the boys could hope to follow.

"Ah ha!" she grinned triumphantly at the boys, "It's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

"What's a Daeva?" asked Dean, leaning forward, "and more importantly, how do we gank the son of a bitch?"

"It translates to 'demon of darkness'. Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes—kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls. And they have to be summoned, controlled. It's some really dangerous stuff. They tend to bight the hand that feeds them, if you know what I mean. And not a gentle nibble."

Sam was nodding as she spoke, "And so to kill them, we need to find who's doing the summoning."

Abby nodded, turning back to the computer, "And I may be able to help you with that. To conjure a Daeva you need to be relatively close, and will need an altar. Something abandoned and relatively sheltered. Where did the two victims live? Hold on, I'll get their full records."

Dean stood up off the bed and leaned over her shoulder to watch as she worked. Abby felt his heat on her shoulder and inhaled the scent of leather, gasoline and sweat. She barely suppressed a shiver. _Jesus Abby, pull your self together. You seriously need to get laid_. She noticed that in trying to pull herself together her fingers had stilled and she was staring blankly at the screen in front of her.

Abby winced and looked up, hoping Dean hadn't noticed. The very smug smile she got in return suggested otherwise. _Holy crap he's good looking. Shit, stop staring. Is he staring? Probably just staring at your staring. Shit, shit… Work, Abby, concentrate on the work. Does he even know the effect he has on girls?_ Abby flushed red and turned back to her computer, pointedly ignoring Dean's knowing chuckle. He absolutely knew what effect he had.

She was distracted from her untimely hormone collapse when she noticed something. "Hold up. Both of your victims were born in Lawrence, Kansas. That's where you guys are from, right?"

Dean looked at her sharply, "How do you know where we're from?"

"Your dad and I go way back," she said dismissively, ignoring the quick exchange of looks between the brothers, and changed the subject. "I doubt that's just a fluke?"

Sam snorted wryly, "We've yet to find something that's just a coincidence."

The brothers shared another look that appeared to be a conversation Abby had no hope in following.

She kept typing. "Uhm. Yeah. So, there's an abandoned warehouse between the locations of the two vics. It seems like a good place for a summoning. I'll pull up surveillance from the street."

"You can do that?" Sam sounded surprised.

Abby turned, allowing a proud smile and a wink, "I can do plenty, Sammy."

Dean laughed in surprise while Sam winced at the nickname, "Its Sam."

Abby was already spinning back to her computer, "Here, found footage," she sped through the tape until she saw a figure enter the warehouse. Abby paused it and tried to focus in on the image.

Sam had risen and stood at Abby's other shoulder. "Hold on," he exclaimed, and Abby stopped. "I know that girl. Dean, that's Meg."

Dean swore. "Dammit. Of course Sammy's got a thing for the bad girl."

Sam exchanged looks with Dean and the two moved over to the corner of Abby's room to have a hushed conversation.

Abby could catch pieces of the conversation.

"I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation," Dean said forcefully.

"No, we can't. We shouldn't tip her off. We've gotta stake out that warehouse. We've gotta see who, or what, is showin' up to meet her."

"I'll tell you one thing. I don't think we should do this alone. We need to call Dad." Dean turned back to Abby, starting as though surprised she was still there. Abby just smiled.

"Uh, thanks for the help, Abby. We'll see you around."

Abby gave a small wave, "Anytime boys. Good luck with the 'ganking.'"

Once they left, Abby returned to her book and her beer. What a strange interaction. She'd have to overanalyze that later. It was nice to have some peace and quiet with Jen out at her party. What was less nice was the searing pain that smacked her over the head and out of consciousness.

When Abby woke up, the first thing she noticed was that her head hurt. A lot. And there was something warm and damp dripping down her face. Blood. She groaned and opened her eyes slowly.

A warehouse. She was tied up, and – Is that… "Sam? Dean?" Abby was almost embarrassed when her voice shook.

"Abigail, welcome to the party!" sang a female voice, and Abby looked up at a pretty girl with short blonde hair whose grin and tone were anything but friendly.

"You're Meg," stated Abby. It wasn't a question. The blonde smiled and gave a small bow.

"Hey, Sam? Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend...is a bitch," groaned Dean from beside her.

Sam looked up to Meg. "This, the whole thing, was a trap. Leading us here. It was all a set-up, wasn't it?" Meg laughed coldly. "And that the victims were from Lawrence?"

Meg smiled again, "It doesn't mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"You killed those two people for nothin'."

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less."

Abby felt her stomach clench. She was well versed in all manners of evil. She'd read deplorable acts of inhuman creatures, but she hadn't been faced with any in her adult life. Seeing evil in the flesh, evil holding a casual conversation, was a rude awakening.

Dean interrupted her thoughts. "You trapped us. Good for you. It's Miller time. But why did you take the girl? Let her go and kill us already."

"Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" Meg leaned closer, "This trap isn't for you. And I need all of you as bait."

Sam looked up sharply, "Dad. It's a trap for Dad."

Abby looked horrified. "But – John wouldn't stumble into a trap like this. He's too good." She stopped, and narrowed her eyes at the demon. "And I don't think you've done your research right. I'm barely acquaintances with the guy."

Meg stood up and walked over to Abby, tutting in disapproval. "Now, now, Abby. You mean much more to him than just that," she smiled, and leaned closer, running a hand down Abby's blood-matted hair, "And he is pretty good. I'll give you that. But you see, he has one weakness. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. And with you little Abby…"

Meg straddled Abby's legs, "I happen to know he keeps tabs on you. He'll know exactly where you are, and he can't let his little rescue puppy get hurt now, can he? He'll come and try to save you all. And then the Daevas will kill everybody—nice and slow and messy."

Abby tried to jerk her head away, but Meg kept an iron grip on her jaw, leaning in, "I've been watching you since Sammy here mentioned your name. You're quite a pretty little thing, you know…" Meg started to kiss her neck, and Abby let out a disgusted gasp.

"Hey! Leave her alone," yelled Sam, and Meg looked to him, laughing.

"Oh don't get jealous Sammy!" The demon stood up and walked over, but before she could the boys both broke free of their ropes. Meg looked surprised.

"Knives, bitch," smirked Dean before knocking her over the head with the hilt of his knife. Meg fell to the ground, clutching her head.

"Sam, get the altar!" shouted Dean.

Sam ran over to the altar and overturned it with a crash. Suddenly, a shadow demon appeared and grabbed Meg. Abby watched in fascinated horror as the demon was dragged across the floor and crashed through the window, falling down to the street below.

Sam grabbed his knife and cut Abby free, clutching her arm and gently lifting her to her feet. They walked over to the window, Sam supporting a still shaken-up Abby, and they all looked out to see Meg sprawled on the sidewalk, dead.

Sam snorted dryly, "So, I guess the Daevas didn't like being bossed around."

"Yeah, I guess not" Dean replied. He turned to Abby. "You alright, kid?" He reached out and checked her head, running a hand across her hair to find the cut.

Even through what ought to have been a severe emotionally damaging event, Abby still could help but blush at the closeness of the hunter. She lowered her eyes to the floorboard and tried to slow her breathing. When she felt the hand on her hair still, she looked up through lowered lashes. Dean's eyes fixed on hers, and Abby's breathing stilled. The air in the dark warehouse seemed to grow heavier.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked again, but this time his voice was low and quiet, his hazel eyes searching her grey ones.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks, Dean."

He nodded, and then seemed to notice that his hand was still in her hair, that he was standing less than a foot away, and that his brother was smirking beside them. Dean pulled his hand away as though bitten, and cleared his throat. "Uh, help carry her out, 'kay Sammy? We'll take her with us to the motel" he ordered gruffly, walking to the door.

Sam shook his head at his brother, smiling. He turned to Abby and picked her up as though lifting a bag of flour. Abby kicked, trying to protest the unnecessary manhandling, but Sam just shushed her and followed Dean to the street.


	4. Down the Highway

By the time they reached the boys' motel room, Abby had managed to convince Sam that she could walk just fine, thank-you-very-much. She understood that they would want to make sure she was physically all right, and Sam assured her that they had some first-aid in the motel room.

Dean unlocked the door, but as they entered Dean let out an exclamation and flicked on the light.

"Hey!" After a beat, Dean let out a shocked "Dad?"

John Winchester turned and smiled softly, "Hey, boys." His eyes narrowed somewhat as he saw the girl behind his youngest son. "Abby? What are you doing here?"

Before she could respond, Dean stepped up to give his dad a long, emotional hug. Sam watched sadly, still hovering by Abby's side.

John looked over, "Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Dad."

Dean spoke up again, breaking the tense silence. "Dad, it was a trap. I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I thought it might've been." Abby had almost forgotten how soothing the man's voice was. Just his presence was a comfort to her in its familiarity, and by the way Sam and Dean seemed to act their age as opposed to ten years older, it affected them the same way.

"Were you there?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?"

"Yes, sir," answered both the boys simultaneously. Abby was surprised at the formality of the response.

"Good. Well, it doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before."

"The demon has?" Sam looked concerned.

"It knows I'm close. It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell—actually kill it."

"How?" asked Dean, and his father just smiled.

"I'm workin' on that. Now, how about you boys tell me why the hell Abby's here?"

Abby had been in the midst of trying to tiptoe towards the door, away from the impromptu and frankly awkward family reunion, when John spoke. She froze and winced, turning around slowly.

"The demon took her too. Said you'd come get her." Answered Dean, looking curious as to why that may be, but not asking outright.

Abby moved back over to the Winchesters. "Hey, John." Her voice was tentative, not sure how she fit into this picture of family dysfunction.

John opened his arms and Abby grinned, reassured that this was no different than any other time they had reunited. They hugged, and John ruffled her messy hair. Abby had a wide, dopey smile at the familiar gesture. The brothers looked startled.

"Glad you're okay, kid. I'm sorry you got caught up in this."

Abby shrugged, trying to sound calmer than she really felt, "Risk of the job, right?"

Dean interrupted before John could reply. "Hold on, does anyone want to explain to me what the hell is going on? Why haven't we heard of Abby before Dad? And how the hell do you know her?"

John looked at his son sharply. "This isn't the time, Dean." His tone allowed no room for argument.

John turned to his youngest son, facial expression softening, "Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

"Yes, sir."

"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

"Too long." The men stood, looking at each other, until John moved in to give his son a tearful hug. A minute later they pulled apart, and the three men stood together tearfully. Abby felt both distinctly awkward about obviously intruding on their family moment, and appreciative that she could see this side of John. She should have known he'd be a good father.

Before she could decide what to say next, John was violently thrown back by a shadow demon, smacking into the kitchen. Sam and Dean were both struck down, and before she could even begin to run Abby was thrown up and slammed into the wall.

She felt claws tear at her chest and face, and heard herself screaming. Any other thoughts were forced from her mind. "Stop! God please stop!" she heard her own voice crying.

Before she could pass out from the agonizing pain she heard Sam call out, "Shut your eyes! These things are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!"

The room filled with smoke and a blinding white light. With a cry, the shadow demons disappeared, and Abby slid to the floor, relieved tears streaming down her face as the pain stopped. She started to cough as the smoke filled her lungs, and felt arms wrap around her.

"Dad!" she heard Dean yell from somewhere in the room.

"Over here!" answered a voice right by her ear. John picked her up, and she felt him stifle a groan of pain.

All four of them stumbled out of the motel room, and Abby felt the déjà vu. Yet again John Winchester was carrying her away from death. Just like she did when she was six, Abby buried her face in his coat.

They exited the building and stumbled to the car in an alleyway. John set Abby down gingerly.

"All right, come on. We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back," said Sam, panic in his voice.

"Wait, wait. Sam, wait. Dad, you can't come with us," stated Dean, the slashes across his face marring his features.

Sam was confused, "What? What are you talkin' about? Dean, we should stick together. We'll go after those demons—"

"Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop, they're gonna try again. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He's—he's stronger without us around."

Sam looked hurt and confused. "Dad, no," He put a hand on his father's shoulder while Dean watched sadly, "After everything, after all the time we spent lookin' for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight." Abby knew there was much more to this interaction then met the eye.

"Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play," John looked at Abby, searching her face for something. Abby didn't know what he was looking for, but tried to meet his gaze steadily. John turned back to Sam. "For now, you've got to trust me, son. Okay, you've gotta let me go."

Sam just looked at his father miserably, patted his shoulder once, and stepped back.

"Dean, can I have a word with you?" Dean looked at his father in puzzlement, but nodded. John led him to the other end of the car. Abby stood beside Sam, and they both watched the conversation that soon seemed to become an argument. They couldn't hear what was going on.

"I'm sorry I got you involved in this, Abby," Sam said quietly.

Abby turned and looked up at the man, seeing all the cuts and bruises covering his face. She supposed that she must look the same, but was too numb to assess any pain. "It's nowhere near being your fault, Sam."

"I'm the one who told Meg your name. I'm so sorry."

Abby stared at him for a beat, and then grabbed his hand. Sam looked down at her in surprise. "I forgive you, Sam. Its alright." Abby could tell that there was already more weight resting on this poor boy's shoulder, and there was no way she was going to let all this crap make it worse for him.

Sam smiled weakly, and Abby tried her best to return it.

Dean and John returned to where they stood, and Abby could see that Dean was pissed off as he climbed into the Impala and slammed the door. Sam looked at his father, at Abby, and then moved to the passenger seat to talk to his brother.

John regarded Abby seriously. "You need to go with them, kid."

"What now?" Abby looked up at the man sharply.

"You know what I said. The demons know who you are now. I need you safe. And although my boys go following trouble, they can at least keep you safe from it. You'd be a sitting duck here."

Abby was dazed. "But…my life here, my school…"

John just shook his head. "You'll go by your apartment and grab some things, and get out of town. I'm sorry Abby. I really, truly am. But you're my responsibility-" he held up a hand to Abby as she tried to interrupt, "you are, kid. Whether you acknowledge it or not. And Dean and Sam will keep you safe."

John reached down and grabbed her shoulders, planting a light kiss on the top of her head. He smiled down at her. "You take care of those boys too, you hear me?" John ran his hand down her hair. "Once we get this demon, this will all be a bad dream," he lied.

Abby numbly nodded, and then reached out to hug John. He pulled her close, and then opened up the door to the back seat of the Impala and lightly pushed her inside.

Abby watched John shut the door, striding back to his truck, and Dean wordlessly started the car.

The bloodied and beaten group had gone by Abby's apartment just long enough for her to throw some clothes, phone and computer into a bag. Abby scribbled a note to Jen, promising to call her later, and then they were off.

That night they drove for about four hours until Sam managed convinced Dean that they needed to find a motel before he passed out.

The ride had been mostly silent, each passenger lost in their own thoughts. Abby felt numb and confused. She didn't want to be here. She knew the brothers didn't want her to be there. She was no hunter; she was a 22-year-old computing student. The last time she was really physically active was in high school when she was on the track team. But she guessed she really didn't have a choice in the matter.

They pulled into a motel at around 4am. Abby grabbed her duffel bag and got out of the car, groaning as her bruised muscles protested against the movement. Dean looked at her and offered a small smile. Abby was surprised how much such a trivial gesture warmed her. At least he wasn't angry.

Dean went to get them a room, and Abby leaned against the Impala, exhausted. When Dean returned they all trudged into a small room, and Abby noted the little cot next to the two beds. She walked over and put her duffel onto it.

"Abby, those things are really uncomfortable," Sam objected, but Abby interrupted him.

"There's no way you or Dean would fit on this bed. I'll take it."

Sam nodded and smiled. "Alright, thanks. You get the shower first, then."

Abby closed the door to the bathroom and peeled off her bloody clothes. They were so torn up; she knew they would have to be thrown out. She looked into the mirror, and grimaced. A gash from forehead to cheek ran down the right side of her face, her left eye was already blackened, and the cut on her forehead from Meg had reopened.

She sighed and turned on the water, stepping into the heat. As she let the water loosen her muscles, Abby considered her situation. This was it. She was a part of this life now, and feeling sorry for her self wouldn't help. Alright, she wasn't a hunter. Hell, she'd never even fired a gun before. But that wasn't to say she was useless. She knew a thing or two about the supernatural, and was great at doing research. She had a good grasp of Latin, and she knew some first aid from being a lifeguard and volunteer student paramedic at U of C.

Abby straightened under the shower, and took a breath. She'd be a help to the Winchesters. She'd make John proud. She owed him at least that much.

With that thought, Abby turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping herself up in a towel.

She walked out into the room and saw Dean sitting on one of the beds. He had his shirt off and was struggling to wrap a cut on is arm. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Dean looked up sharply at the bathroom door opening. He looked her over slowly, and Abby blushed, pointedly aware that she was just in a towel. She walked to her duffel and grabbed an old Rolling Stones t-shirt and her heart-patterned boxers. She ducked back into the bathroom to change, and returned, drying her hair.

"Can I help with that?" she asked quietly, gesturing to Dean's arm. He looked at her, and then shrugged, holding out the bandage wordlessly. They were too tired for conversation.

Abby sat next to him on the bed, and looked at the cut. It wasn't too deep and wouldn't require stitches, but it would need to be kept clean. "Have you cleaned it out?" she asked.

Dean tilted the bottle of whisky in his hand and smiled. "It heals most wounds." He took a deep swig.

Abby nodded, and finished wrapping his arm. Muttering thanks, Dean passed her the bottle. Although not usually a big drinker of hard liquor, she figured that surviving a demonic attack was a good enough reason for a drink. She took a large gulp.

The silence they shared was one of tentative camaraderie, passing the bottle back and forth.

"Where's Sam?" asked Abby, breaking the quiet.

Before Dean could respond, the man himself walked through the door carrying bags of take-out food.

"I assumed you'd be okay with a burger," said Sam, tossing her one. Abby smiled and nodded, tearing it open and eating with vigor. The trio shared a silent meal, each still recuperating from their night.

Soon afterwards they fell into their respective beds, exhausted sleep claiming them.

Abby's eyes cracked open at the sounds of a shower turning on. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Good morning sunshine!" sang Dean, grinning a wide smile at the girl. He was almost unrecognizable from the weary warrior of the night before.

Abby yawned and rubbed at her messy hair. "What time is it?"

"Seven am, kiddo."

Abby nodded distractedly and stumbled over to the bathroom, desperately wanting to brush her teeth free of burger and whisky. She opened the door, and was made suddenly awake by a very nearly naked Sam.

"Abby! Shit!" the giant struggled to pull a towel over his (very, very nice) body and Abby ran out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

"Oh, God, sorry Sam! Fuck." She had her back against the door, and ran a hand over her face in awkwardness. _What a great start, Abby_. Dean was cackling as he tied his shoes.

"Ass-hat," Abby chided him, but she could help but laugh too, covering her mouth.

"Might as well make things interesting," he said, winking at her. "I'm going to go grab some breakfast."

After Sam came out of the washroom, blushing adorably, Abby went in to get dressed. She pulled on a pair of worn denim shorts and an oversized green sweatshirt, pulling her hair into a messy bun and putting on her glasses. Zipping up her duffle and tugging on her worn brown cowboy boots, Abby ran out to meet the boys in the car. Breakfast on the road.

The next 5 hours were spent in good humor, and Abby was pleasantly surprised to find that getting along with the Winchester boys was relatively easy. Abby and Dean bickered good-naturedly over music, until they found a common ground in their mutual love for Led Zeppelin. And they both enjoyed telling Sam to shut it when he complained about the music being too loud.

After they stopped for lunch and a stretch, they were back into the Impala, and onto Interstate 35 towards Texas.

"So what is it exactly we're looking into?" asked Abby, booting up her computer as she lay on the backseat, back against the door.

Sam turned to look at her. "The Hell House in Texas. Mordecai Murdoch. I read about it in a blog; it sounds like our sort of thing."

Abby nodded and tucked a wavy strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear, "Alright, I'll find everything I can on ghost attacks and this Mordecai fellow."

After about an hour, Abby got bored of her research (did none of these blog-writers use spell-check?) and managed to convince Sam to tell her about his time at Stanford. She empathized with his recounting of his girlfriend Jessica; about how they met, and how they fell in love. Abby noticed Dean paying close attention, wincing with his brother's pain while keeping his eyes on the road.

When Sam got to recounting Jess's death, he sounded pained and spoke through a fog of grief. Abby reached forward and grabbed his hand. It was an instinctive move to comfort, and she didn't realize until she had done so that it might have been too forward. But Sam made eye contact and smiled, squeezing her hand back. Abby absently wondered how often the boys were offered comfort beyond sex.

"So, Abby," Dean broke the shared moment between his brother and his new charge, "Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?" Although stated casually, Abby could tell this was a question Dean had been meaning to ask for a while. And she supposed she owed him at least that much.

"Alright," she smiled, "You want the life story then?" Sam turned around in his seat to look at her, and Dean's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror.

"If you wouldn't mind."

Abby nodded and settled back against the Impala's door. "Alright. Well, I was born on November 4th, 1984 in Jackson, Mississippi."

"A country girl? I never woulda guessed. Though it explains the boots," Dean added, grinning.

"Hey now, what wrong with my boots?" asked Abby playfully, wiggling the offending items.

"Right now? That they're on my upholstery."

Abby laughed, but kicked off her boots. If she learnt one thing about Dean so far, it was that you didn't mess with the car.

"Alright. Anyways, so I was born in Jackson. My dad worked in construction, and my mom was a nurse. I don't have any siblings. When I was six, we were attacked." The boys had gone silent, and Abby took a deep breath. She was so used to telling people that her parents died in a freak accident. It was a strange change of pace to tell the truth for once.

"It was a demon. I don't really think there was any motive behind it. One night I returned from soccer practice with my dad, and we found my mother. She was just lying on the kitchen floor, with this gash through her chest." She moved her hand over her own chest. Abby was no longer addressing the brothers, but was staring ahead, reliving the moment.

"My dad…he yelled out for my mom, and started towards her, but this… man stepped out from the hallway. He was tall. And his eyes…they were just black. I had never seen anything like it. The memory is fuzzy, but my dad started towards this guy, but flew backwards. He hit the wall and I heard this…cracking sound. I tried to go wake him up, but he wouldn't move… I remember crying… and this man, he just laughed…and then there was fire, flames and such heat… and the man just walked through it, like it was nothing."

Abby seemed to remember herself and snapped up, meeting Dean's gaze in the rearview mirror. It was unreadable. Sam was looking at her sympathetically.

"But then your dad showed up. He shot at the demon and it bolted. And then John picked me up and ran me out of the house. He settled me into an orphanage a state over. A nice place, no orphan-Annie sob story for me. And he stayed in contact. He brought me my first computer and encouraged me to go to school."

An indecipherable look crossed Sam's face, and he looked away before Abby could discern why he seemed upset.

"Anyway, yeah, so I went to school, met Jen, and tried to help John out. And now here I am."

"And now here you are," agreed Dean. She couldn't decide what to make of his tone, and wished the Winchester boys would stop being so damn enigmatic.

A/N: Hey! Melancholymuppet here. I just wanted to thank anyone who's been reading thus far; I hope you aren't hating it! This is definitely a work in progress, and I'll be editing and changing things as I go. Which means I'd love comments/criticisms/thoughts.  
A solid shout-out to BrittWitt16 for her amazing words of encouragement!


	5. Chapter 5

The trio stopped for dinner at a diner just outside of Kansas City, and spoke about some refreshingly normal things. Abby discovered that Sam hated clowns, that Dean found airplanes untrustworthy, and even more importantly she observed about their relationship.

While Dean teased Sam, there were always limits. He knew when to stop, and took Sam's teasing as good-naturedly as one could expect. Whenever either brother went somewhere, getting up to go to the washroom or to grab some extra napkins, the other's eyes followed. They kept tabs on each other, and never seemed at ease when they let their brother out of sight.

And they kept a careful watch on the diner. Abby knew Dean had a gun tucked in his jeans and Sam had a knife at his side. Whenever someone entered the diner the brothers knew it. They didn't look obvious or paranoid, but they were alert. To Abby it seemed exhausting. Did they never get to just relax? She couldn't help but replay in her mind John's request to look out for the boys. How she could at all help a pair who already seemed perfectly capable was beyond her.

After she polished off her chicken fingers and fries Abby excused herself to run to the washroom. She was heading back to the table when a guy stepped in front of her. He was short, old, and leering at her.

"Heya honey, whatcha doin' round these parts?" he asked, standing much too close for Abby's taste.

"Uh, we're just passing through," she replied hesitantly, stepping back while trying to maintain a polite tone. No need to piss off the locals, no matter how creepy.

He took a step forward, following. "Well, if you want somebody to show you around…" he simpered, grabbing for Abby's wrist_. Oh, hell no_. She was about to tell him to back off when the man was physically lifted in the air and away from her by a very annoyed looking Sam. Dean stood beside his brother, arms crossed.

"You can leave now," he said, polite but unquestionably firm, moving his hand to rest where Abby knew the gun was stashed.

"Hey, I'm jus' bein' friendly," the man started.

"Well then, you can just stop," Dean glared at the man, and the point was made. The stranger lifted his hands in defeat and backed away. The girl was cute, but not worth messing with these large, angry looking strangers.

"Come on, Abby," said Sam, tugging her towards the door.

"Hey, that was nice and all guys, but I could have taken care of it..."

"You're our responsibility, Abby," stated Dean casually, as though that was an end to the conversation.

"Your responsibility? I'm not a child."

"Look," Dean stopped and spun to face her, suddenly very serious. "Dad gave me an order to make sure you're safe, and I'm going to do just that. You don't have a say in the matter."

Abby nodded mutely. She wasn't about to pick an argument with the guy who was keeping her safe, but she couldn't help but wonder; was that what she was to them, an obligation? She knew it was a bit too soon to be calling herself their friend, but she was hoping that she'd been more than a babysitting chore…she was biting her lip, disheartened by this whole turn of events when she felt Sam squeeze her hand. She looked up and he winked at her, giving a goofy grin. Abby couldn't help but smile back.

Sam spent the last hours of their trip towards the motel in the backseat with Abby, playing a very competitive game of 'go fish.' Abby was again surprised about how easily she and the younger Winchester got along. Sam was patient and kind, and took her bantering with an easy smile. He was obviously being gentle with her feelings, and she couldn't help but feel comfortable with the compassionate, shaggy-haired giant.

Abby didn't know she was even tired until she woke up on Sam's shoulder. She sat up quickly, embarrassed, and wiped at her mouth. _God, you better not have drooled on your new friend, dork_.

Sam just smiled at her, "We're here, sleeping beauty."

The motel was pretty much like the one from the night before but with one key difference; this hotel didn't have cots.

The trio stood in the room, looking at the two beds with apprehension and uneasy expressions.

"I'm gonna go take a shower. You guys can figure this out, kay? I promise I don't snore." With that Abby darted to the washroom, cowardly leaving the guys to figure out the awkward bed issue.

When she came back into the room, Dean casually told Abby that since Sam was moose-sized, forcing anyone to share with him would be cruel and unusual punishment. Which meant that she'd be sleeping beside Dean. _Oh God help me. _

Dean went to shower, and Abby climbed into the bed feeling as jittery as a teenager.

"Want to watch something?" asked Sam from the neighboring bed.

"Yeah, sure." _Any distraction would be helpful_.

Sam turned on some soap opera, _Dr. Sexy_, and Abby relaxed as they giggled about the clichés and some frankly alarming disregards for hospital hygiene.

Dean came out of the bathroom to see what they were laughing at. He was wearing a t-shirt and boxer briefs, brushing his teeth, and looked more attractive than any guy had the right to. He rolled his eyes and grinned before ducking back into the bathroom.

Sam headed off to the washroom, sending a "You better not have used all the hot water, jerk," over his shoulder to his brother.

"Alright Abby, try to resist getting too grope-y during the night, m'kay?" teased Dean, giving her a wink and scooting into bed.

Abby grinned weakly and took her glasses off, setting them on the nightstand, "I don't know how I'll ever resist, Dean."

She turned to smile at him and was confronted with Dean's gaze, closer than earlier. _Oh man, why's he looking at me? What's on my face? Is it my hair? Has he ever seen my hair down before? It is pretty terrifying, but come on; the guy's faced ghosts and demons. Some untamed follicles really shouldn't alarm him…_ Abby tried to calm her rambling mind, and belatedly realized that they had been just looking at each other for a good two minutes.

Abby looked down sharply in embarrassment, hair falling into her face. She was beyond surprised when she felt a hand move a strand from her face to tuck it behind her ear.

"You should wear your hair down more," Dean said quietly. "It suits you."

Abby searched his hazel eyes for a joke, and saw none. His eyes seemed unfocused as he moved his hand to tentatively trace her cheek with the back of his fingers. Abby closed her eyes at the touch. _What the hell is going on? _battled in her mind with _Please don't let him stop_.

And then Sam opened the bathroom door with a bitching "I only got like thirty seconds of hot water, Dean…"

The two in the bed flew apart guiltily before Sam could notice, and Dean quickly retorted, "Well that's why you shower first, Sammy. It's the way motel plumbing works."

"You never let me shower first! And its Sam."

"I do too, but I get first pick anyways."

"Oh, why's that?"

"'Cause I'm the oldest. Sammy." Dean smirked at his little brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled, "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Abby relaxed with the familiar bickering, and put the tense moment out of her mind. Sam turned off the light. As she fell into a restless sleep, Abby wondered if she should feel more nervous about sleeping with relative strangers. She decided she didn't care.

The next morning Abby woke up with a pair of warm arms wrapped around her waist. She lay still, trying to analyze exactly what it was she was feeling, and came up with equal parts lust and confusion. Shifting, she turned around to face Dean. His eyes opened sleepily with her movement.

"Hey," she whispered.

Dean murmured something incomprehensible, pulling her closer with strong arms. After a beat his eyes snapped open wide, realizing their position. He lifted his arms from her as though burned, scooting back. Abby could have sworn he even blushed.

"Uh, hey…Hi…" He all but jumped out of the bed. Dean ran a hand through his short hair, the movement tugging his shirt up to show a patch of muscular stomach. Abby forced herself not to gawk. It really was unfair how good-looking this guy was.

"Breakfast?" he grinned.

It was early afternoon by the time they were on the road. Abby sat in the back seat, book lying forgotten on her lap as she watched Dean place a plastic spoon into sleeping Sam's mouth. She covered a giggle, and Dean smiled at her in the rearview mirror.

Still grinning, Dean flipped open his phone and took a photo, and then turned up the Blue Öyster Cult on the radio.

"Fire...of unknown origins...took my baby away!" sang Dean loudly along with the song, and Abby laughed out loud.

Sam jerked up, and realizing there was something is in his mouth, panicked and waved his arms, spitting out the spoon. Dean air drummed along to the song on the steering wheel looked over to his brother, grinning as Sam wiped his mouth and turned down the music. Abby chuckled in the backseat.

"Ha ha, very funny," said Sam, glaring at Dean and turning to give Abby a stare down as well. "Stop laughing, you're encouraging him." Abby mimed zipping her lips and layback down against the seat.

Dean just chuckled. "Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, we've kinda gotta make our own." He winked at Abby in the rearview mirror, and smiled when the girl blushed.

But Sam was pissed. "Man, we're not kids anymore Dean. We're not going to start that crap up again."

"Start what up?" asked Abby, curious about the childhood of the Winchester boys.

"Prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates."

Abby could imagine. Both boys were smart, resourceful, and relatively without mercy. Abby silently vowed to not get involved.

"What's the matter Sammy, scared you're going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?"

"All right, just remember you started it."

"Ah ha, bring it on baldy!"

Abby decided this would be a good time to play mediator, "Where are we, anyways?" she asked, pointedly changing the subject.

"A few hours outside of Richardson. Gimme the low down again?"

Abby straightened up and grabbed her laptop. "All right, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house."

"Haunted by what?" asked Sam, turning to look at her.

"Apparently, a rather misogynistic spirit. Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this group of kids sees this dead girl hanging in the cellar."

"Anybody ID the corpse?" asked Dean.

"Well, that's the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains."

"Maybe the cops are right?" asked Sam, sounding hopeful.

"Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids' first hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere. But you guys have more experience with this sort of thing, so interviewing them may be a good idea."

Dean was nodding. "Where did you read these accounts?"

"Well on some local paranormal websites that Same started me on."

"And what were those?"

Sam looked a bit embarrassed, and exchanged a look with Abby. " ."

Dean snorted derisively, "Let me guess, streaming live out of Mom's basement."

Sam grinned, "Yeah, probably."

"Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit 'em in the persqueeter." This last bit was directed towards Abby, who nodded.

"But there's no harm in checking it out, right?" she asked.

"No harm at all," agreed Dean. "All right. So where do we find these kids?"

"Same place you always find kids in a town like this," answered Sam.

It was dark by the time they pulled up to a diner called 'Rodeo Drive.' Sam and Dean went off to interview the locals, and Abby went to grab their food. Dean handed her a credit card before she went, giving Abby a wink that sent butterflies dancing around her stomach.

"Well, the only thing about those stories that matched up is the guy who told them about it," stated Dean, biting a french-fry.

"Well, that and the fact that there was a dead girl," added Sam, sipping his drink thoughtfully.

Abby looked between the brothers, "So we go talk to that Craig guy?"

Dean nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. "We talk to the Craig guy."

They entered the record shop and Abby grinned. She loved places like this, libraries of old records.

A short guy came up, holding a stack of records. "Can I help you guys with anyth-" he stopped, noticing Abby. "Guys and _lady,_" he added, grinning at her.

"No," Dean said simply. He turned to Abby. "Go check out some records, okay honey?" he stated loudly.

"No problem, honey bear!" she cooed back. Sam laughed, and Abby sashayed away dramatically to go look at some Neil Young records.

They met up outside afterwards, and Sam ran down Craig's story for Abby. "Supposedly back in the '30s this farmer, Mordecai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the depression, his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. So he apparently went off the deep end. He figured it was best if his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung 'em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he just turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside."

Abby looked repulsed, "Sounds like a swell fellow."

"Yeah, a real charmer," agreed Dean. "Craig said he heard it from his cousin. But he seems to believe it."

"You shoulda let me interview him," Abby smiled innocently, "I think he liked me better."

"Don't even think about it, kiddo," laughed Dean, ruffling her hair. Abby mock scowled and smoothed her hair down, giving a light punch to his chest. Before a pseudo wrestling match could begin, Sam stepped in between, playing referee.

"Well let's go check out this house then!" Abby looked at them, excited to be involved in a real case.

"Uh, you're staying in the car," laughed Sam. "Ghost that strings up girls, you're a girl…" he explained.

"Aw Sammy, you noticed!" Abby teased, and Sam gave her a playful push.

"Sam's right," interjected Dean seriously, "You're totally staying in the car."

They drove over to the old house, and Sam and Dean ducked inside. Abby sat back in the Impala, and did some research. The boys came out about half an hour later, amused.

It turned out that they met some 'professional' ghost hunters; two stoners who were responsible for . Abby laughed as the boys gave a ridiculous reenactment.

"What did you get?" asked Dean, noting the laptop on the seat next to Abby.

"Well, I couldn't find a Mordecai, but I did find a Martin Murdock who lived in that house in the '30s. He did have children, but only two of them, both boys, and there's no evidence he ever killed anyone."

"Huh, well that's weird-"

"Furthermore," Abby interjected, "I checked out the police website. No matching missing persons, it's like the girl they described never even existed."

Dean looked at her with impressed surprise, "Well, haven't you been busy!"

Abby smiled up at him, "You guys have your talents; I have mine."

Dean looked to his brother. "Dude, come on. We did our digging; this one's a bust all right. For all we know those hell hound boys made up the whole thing."

"Yeah, alright," agreed Sam.

"I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals," stated Dean firmly.

The night was relaxing, drinking beers and trading stories, and Abby felt that the brothers were beginning to relax around her. They recounted stories from their earlier hunting days, of Wendigos and Shapeshifters. She laughed with them, and shared their more sobering moments. And felt her heart jump every time Dean smiled at her. She was trying desperately to ignore it. _Is there anything more cliché?_ _Falling for the handsome savior? Please, Abby._

Dean lifted his beer to his lips, and watched the girl seated across from him laugh at something his brother had said. Her head was thrown back, dark waves spilling down her back, and Dean almost forgot to take a sip of his drink.

Abby was an issue, Dean had determined. When his father told him to take the geeky but irrefutably pretty girl with them, he almost considered arguing. As if he needed more responsibility on his plate. But his father's orders were firm, and Dean couldn't disobey; he was a good son. She turned out to be a definite help to the team, and was great at research. She saved him a lot of boring hours at the computer and library, he'd willingly confess.

Dean had told himself that he would just have to treat this newcomer as a little sister, and look out for her like he did Sammy. It was harder to do than he thought. The night before he had almost crossed a line. He had no idea what he was thinking, touching her like that. It must have been just too long since he'd gotten laid. Since then, he had made sure to ruffle her hair, call her 'kiddo,' and avoid looking at the fantastic legs stretching out of those damn shorts.

Abby turned and caught Dean's gaze. She smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before turning back to listen to Sam's animated story about the haunted lake. Dean's heart thumped in his chest when her grey eyes met his, and he assured himself that it was just the hazardous cocktail of burgers and beer. _Little sister, dude, little sister…_

Their Western-themed motel for the night had a cot, and Abby couldn't help but feel disappointed. And although she didn't know, and although he wouldn't admit it, Dean felt the same way.


	6. Chapter 6

The trio stood in the cold morning air, facing the old haunted house as emergency vehicles and uniformed officers swarmed around.

"So I guess we celebrated too soon," Abby sadly stated the obvious, a white cloud rising from her mouth. Sam wordlessly unzipped his hoodie and placed it over her shoulders.

They approached a man who was standing outside, watching the scene grimly.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house."

"A suicide?" asked Sam.

"Yeah. She was a straight A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don't make sense," the man said with a sad shake of the head before turning and walking away.

"Whaddaya think?" asked Sam seriously, turning to his brother.

"I think maybe we missed something," replied Dean.

"Back to the hell house tonight?" asked Abby, snuggling into her sweater. The boys both nodded.

Back at the motel, the boys prepared for the night. They had laid out a collection of firearms onto the bed, and were wordlessly taking apart and reloading each. There was something of tradition and ceremony to their motions, and Abby felt that she ought not interfere.

She held her cellphone in her hand, contemplating. It had seemed like years since she had spoken to Jen. She didn't know how she would explain what she had been doing, or answer when she'd be back… But she had to say something. This seemed like a good time as any.

Dean was only half paying attention to the shotgun he was handling, as he watched Abby from across the room. She had been deliberating over her cellphone for a few minutes before sighing deeply, dialing, and lifting it to her ear.

"Hey, Jen?" She sounded tentative, but then a smile broke out over her face. Dean felt his stomach drop. She had a great smile. _A great smile? What kind of rom-com crap was that?_ Dean pointedly fixed his gaze on the gun in hand, but still listened to Abby's side of her conversation.

"I know, I know… yeah, its been pretty busy… I'm not sure, but it won't be too long… Yeah, correspondence. You know me! I can make up the credits in no time!... So how is everyone?... Oh, is he?...No, Jen! No, I'm serious, don't, please, Jen—Oh, hey Steve! Great to hear from you."

Dean's eyes lifted and met Sam's. Who was this 'Steve' character? The Winchester brothers stopped any pretense of concentrating on their guns and looked over the watch the girl across the room.

Abby ran a hand through her curls in frustration, attempting to keep her voice chipper. She really, really wished Jen would stop trying to get her and Steve back together. That was a long time ago. She froze mid sentence when she noticed Sam and Dean watching her with interest.

"Uh, yeah, that's great Steve. Look, my reception is really bad – " she started making noises of a phone disconnecting, "—Steve…the phone….breaking up…._shhhhttt_." With that she hung up the phone. She looked at the brothers. "What?"

"Steve?" asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.

"A guy from Chicago. It was a long time ago," she said dismissively. Eager to change the subject, she asked, "So about tonight…"

Abby managed to convince the guys to let her come with them so long as she stayed outside of the house. As they crouched in damp bushes, Abby began to have second thoughts on why she insisted on tagging along. She tugged Sam's hoodie closer around herself against the cold, thinking with amusement of what Jen would have to say about her current situation; middle of the night, tucked in close between two gorgeous men. Scandalous!

Police officers were milling about outside the house as they watched carefully, looking for an opening. Jen could tell the brothers were tense.

"I guess the cops don't want anyone else screwing around in there," stated Sam quietly.

"Yeah, but we still gotta get in there," Dean stopped when Abby nudged him gently. He looked down at her questioningly, their faces mere inches apart.

"Who's that?" she asked in a hushed voice, gesturing with a nod of her head to the woods.

Dean strained to listen and peered out from their hiding place. A look of exasperation crossed his face. "I don't believe it."

Abby could see a pair of short men covered in electronic equipment trudging towards the house. "Those are the guys from before?" guessed Abby, "The Hellhounds guys?"

Dean raised his eyebrows in response, before suddenly grinning.

"I've got an idea," he rose slightly and turned towards the cops and hollered, "Who ya gonna call!"

The guys in the forest panicked, crashing about clumsily, and the cops ran after them, shouting for the boys to stop.

Sam and Dean laughed, and gesturing for her to stay put, they made a break for the house. As the hilarity of the situation faded, Abby realized she was alone, in some bushes, out in the cold, by a haunted house. _Fabulous_. She pulled her sweater closer and hunkered down to wait, trying to reassure herself that the brothers would be all right.

About half an hour later Abby saw the two guys from before creeping back to the house. Abby could overhear their conversation.

"Maybe we should just get out of here," said one.

"No. Would John Edward go? We've lost the cops, let's find our center and get some work done. Ok? All right?" responded the other. Abby was about to roll her eyes at their comical remarks when Sam and Dean burst out of the house.

Instinctively Abby sprang out of the bushes towards them, stiff limbs groaning in discontent.

"Go, go, go!" shouted Sam, all but picking Abby off the ground and carrying her with them in the opposite direction.

She turned her head and saw what could only be a ghost of a tall old man standing at the door, "Holy shit!" Her first real-life ghost!

She turned back just in time to see the cops grab the Hellhound boys. _Bad luck for them. _

Once safely away from the house, Dean turned towards her. "What part of stay in the bushes didn't you understand?" he chided out of breath, with no real anger in his voice. Abby ran her eyes over the brothers, checking that they were both okay, sighing in relief when they seemed intact. Silently, they headed back to the motel to rethink their strategy.

Sam and Dean ran over what occurred in the house, and they all contemplated on how to explain what had happened.

Sam sat at the desk typing on Abby's computer after scarcely managing to convince her to give her baby up. Dean sat on his bed staring intently at a symbol sketched onto a piece of paper, and Abby rested on her stomach on her cot with a stack of books. She looked up when Dean spoke.

"What the hell is this symbol? It's buggin' the hell outta me. This whole damn job's buggin' me. I thought the legend said Mordecai only goes after chicks."

"It does," answered Sam curtly, not looking up from the screen.

"All right. Well that explains why he went after you but why me?"

Abby rolled her eyes at the familiar teasing, but shared a smile with Dean when he looked over to her.

Sam ignored his brother, "Hilarious. The legend also says he hung himself but did you see how he had slit wrists? What's up with that? And the axe too. I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict right? Following the same patterns over and over again?"

Abby confirmed; at least in everything she had read, that was the case. A consistent bunch, ghosts. Usually so reliable!

"But this mook keeps changing," said Dean distractedly, tracing the image on his notepad. Abby dropped the book that was getting her nowhere and walked over to him. She met Dean's eyes and gestured to the paper. He wordlessly handed it over, watching her with interest.

After studying the symbol for a second, Abby looked up, "This was on the walls in the house? You're joking, right?"

"If I were joking, you'd be laughing. Why, do you know it?"

Sam interjected, "Someone added a new post to the Hellhound site. Listen to this. 'They say Mordecai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity."

"This is a logo for Blue Öyster Cult," Abby replied to Dean simply, eyebrows raised, "Why would this be in a haunted house that was supposed to be built before the band members were even born?"

Dean gazed up at her, awestruck, "You," he jumped up and grabbed Abby's shoulders, "are amazing!" He lifted her up and smacked an excited kiss to her mouth before running over to show Sam. Abby stood in place, swaying in surprise. _Awesome_.

The Winchester brothers and their girl-wonder companion headed back to the record shop.

"Hey Craig? Remember us?" asked Dean, looking pissed off and dangerous. _Sexy_, thought Abby before she could stop herself.

"Guys, look, I'm really not in the mood to answer any of your questions, okay?"

"Oh don't worry. We're just here to buy an album, that's all. Tell me Craig, You into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people? Now why don't you tell us about that house...without lying through your ass this time." The look on Dean's face made it clear that if he were messed with again, there would be some serious hell to pay.

Effectively cornered by two intimidating men, and a less intimidating but trying-her-best-to-at-least-look-grim girl, Craig confessed.

"All right, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the wall, some from albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so...we made up some story to go along with that. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of it's own. I mean I thought it was funny at first but...that girl's dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real; we just made the whole thing up. I swear!"

The guy looked so panicked that Abby couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She had the benefit of being raised understanding that there was more to the world than what you learn in school, and she knew that being faced with the unexplainable when you had no experience with it wasn't comforting. She reached out to put a hand on the guy's shoulder in comfort. Dean looked at her with surprise.

Sam apparently agreed with Abby's sympathetic approach, and gave a soft "Alright," to Craig before turning to exit the shop.

Once outside, Dean turned to address his brother, "If none of it was real how the hell do you explain Mordecai?"

Sam ran a hair through his hair and let out a sigh, "Dude, I have no idea."

The next morning the boys stayed at the motel to shower while Abby went to the library to get some Internet access. She picked up a double-shot latte on the way. There was some serious research to do, and serious research meant caffeine.

Abby was painfully aware that she was no help out in the field. She couldn't shoot a gun and couldn't fight her way out of a paper bag, but hell if she was just going to be just another thorn in their side. She had her useful qualities. At least she hoped so. Settling down in a corner of the library, she sank into her work.

Abby met up with the boys at a nearby diner a few of hours later. Sam brought over a tray of coffee, and Abby smiled her thanks.

"So whaddya got, kid?" asked Dean, biting into a burger.

"A Tulpa," she stated, taking a long gulp of life-giving coffee. _Caffeine_, her brain moaned in happiness. Do these guys ever get more than 4 hours of sleep? By the time she had arrived at the information she needed the words were swimming around the page.

"And what's a 'Tulpa'?" asked Sam, looking interested.

"Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. Group of monks visualized a golem in their head. The meditated on it so hard they bought the thing to life. Outta thin air," Abby was gesturing broadly with her hands, only to quiet down at the strange looks she was receiving from the other patrons.

Dean raised his eyebrows, "And this relates to Mordecai because…"

Sam answered for her, catching on to the implications of what she had described, "That was a few monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordecai, and then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard."

Abby gave thumbs up from behind the coffee she was downing, appreciating his analysis.

"Now wait a second," said Dean, looking between the pair, "Are you guys trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordecai he just becomes real?"

"I dunno, maybe," shrugged Abby.

Dean wasn't convinced, "People believe in Santa Claus, how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?"

"There's no Santa?" Abby looked mock horrified. Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Abby continued in seriousness, turning her laptop to show the boys. "That's a Tibetan spirit sigil that you guys found on the wall of the house, right? Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was. Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like… like a magnifying glass. So people are on the Hellhounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordecai..." she waved her hand about, inviting them to fill in the blanks "I mean, I don't know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life," she concluded, leaning back into her chair.

Dean nodded, studying Abby's computer screen, "It would explain why he keeps changing."

"Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so the legend itself changes. Like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work," Sam stated. Abby noticed that he was twitching and grimacing while he spoke, and she tilted her head at him. _Odd._

"You okay there, Sam?" Abby asked, her concern obvious.

"So he's not a traditional spirit," interrupted Dean before his brother could respond, "So why don't we just...uh, get this spirit sigil thingy off the wall and off the website?"

Abby dragged her eyes from the fidgeting goliath next to her, and responded, "Well it's not that simple, apparantly once Tuplas are created they take on a life of their own."

"Great. So if he really is a thought form how the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?" asked Dean, but he was watching his brother, looking more amused than pissed off.

Something suspicious was going on here, Abby decided, and prayed that it wasn't the persistence of the powder-keg known as a Winchester prank war.

She answered Dean, still wary, "Well it's not gonna be easy with those Hellhound guys helping out. Since they've posted the footage their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone."

"Hm. I got an idea. Come on," ordered Dean, rising.

"Where we going?" asked Sam, still fidgeting.

"We gotta find a copy store."

As Dean strode ahead, Abby put a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Are you alright, Sam? You seem…uncomfortable?"

"I think I'm allergic to our soap or something…"

They heard Dean cackle, and a look of furious indignation pasted itself onto Sam's face, "You did this? You're a friggin jerk!"

"Oh yeah!" yelled Dean proudly, and sent a wink towards Abby.

She was torn between wanting to grin at his antics and wince in sympathy at Sam's discomfort. Instead, Abby opted for a diplomatic sip of coffee and a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, trailing after the bickering brothers.


	7. Chapter 7

They pulled into the park a couple of hours later, and stood outside a small, rusted trailer.

Abby exchanged a look with the brothers as they listened to a muted conversation from inside the vehicle.

"No. No no, forget it. Forget it! I'm not going back in there again," cried a high-pitched voice.

"Harry. Look at me. Right here. Ok? You are a ghost hunter, ok?" said another, firmly.

"I know but I've never seen a real ghost before Ed, like a real ghost, an apparition!"

"This stuff here...this is our ticket to the big time right here. Fame, money, sex. With girls. K? Be brave. WWBD. What. Would. Buffy. Do. huh?"

Abby covered her laugh, and Dean rolled his eyes before banging on the trailer door. It was time to put their plan into action.

"Come on out here guys, we hear you in there," called Dean.

The door swung open and the two guys from the other day popped out their heads. It was the first time Abby had seen them outside of bushes at night, and she couldn't help but compare their duo to the Winchester brothers. They were definitely a different…type.

"Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging, what a shock," smirked Dean.

"Guys, we need to talk," added Sam, kinder than his brother.

Abby stood beside the brothers and felt slightly uncomfortable with the looks the two boys in the trailer were giving her. It was something between awe and fear. Hadn't they seen a living, breathing female before?

"Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're ahhh, a little bit busy right now," said the bearded one with glasses, Ed, hopping down from the trailer and stepping over to Abby, "We could spare a minute for you though, sweetheart." He gave her what she supposed was meant to be a winning smile.

Abby smiled weakly, and Dean rolled his eyes, "Okay, well we'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website."

Ed turned to face Dean, laughing, "Well these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell..."

"I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people," said the smaller one, Harry. He sent Abby a nervous look before lowering his voice to the brothers, "And I get stage fright."

"Why should we trust you guys?"

Sam was exasperated, "Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what's in that house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordecai."

"That's right, which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt," added Dean.

"We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth," stated Ed, puffing out his chest and sending Abby a look that was meant to be stoic.

"Well I have an obligation to kick both your little asses right now," threatened Dean.

"Dean, Dean, it's ok," said Abby, putting her hand on Dean's chest as though she were holding him back. "Hey, just forget it, all right? These guys...you could probably bitch slap them both, I could probably even tell them that thing about Mordecai..." Dean sent her a dramatically warning look, and Abby continued with mock regret, "But they still won't help us. Let's just go." She gave a theatrical sigh.

"Yeah, you're probably right," agreed Dean, his face a picture of disappointment.

They started to walk away.

"Whoa, whoa there, honey," Ed and Harry looked slightly panicked, and Harry reached to grab Abby's arm. At a look from Dean he withdrew his hand sharply.

"What thing about Mordecai, pretty lady?" asked Ed, giving the girl his best smile.

"Don't tell 'em, Abby," warned Sam.

"But if they agree to shut the website down, Sam…" Abby blinked up at him with as much earnest innocence as she could muster.

"They're not going to do it, you said so yourself," said Dean, still walking.

"No wait. Wait. Don't listen to him okay? We'll do it. We'll do it," Ed spluttered.

"It's a secret, Abby," said Dean dramatically.

"Look, it is a really big deal all right. And it wasn't easy to dig up. So only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down," she pleaded, fluttering her eyes at the bearded boy in front of her. After a thought, she sent him a mega-watt smile. Ed resembled somewhat a cartoon character that got knocked over the head with a club. She could almost see the stars dancing around his head. Were men really that easy to manipulate?

"Totally," Ed breathed.

"All right," said Abby, reaching into her purse to draw out some paperwork. Sam and Dean made a show of being upset. "It's a death certificate. From the '30s. We got it at the library. Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gun shot wound."

"That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself," emphasized Dean.

"He shot himself?" asked Harry, snatching the papers from Abby.

"Yep. With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he's terrified of them," added Sam.

"Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds it'd kill the son of a bitch," stated Dean firmly.

Ed and Harry sniggered excitedly, looking at the papers Abby had offered (and, coincidentally, forged). Harry spun around and ran back to the trailer. Ed turned to follow, before quickly coming back and offering Abby a business card that read _Hell Hounds: We face the nightmare, we face the dead!_

"Thanks for your help, sweetheart. Uh, call that number there," he tapped the card, "If you want to see how some real men hunt ghosts." With a wink he turned and ran after his partner.

Abby looked at the card in her hand and back up to the guys. She made a show of carefully tucking the card into her pocket for safekeeping. "Man, a case and a date! Maybe I've been travelling with the wrong manly men? Think they could fit me into that wicked trailer?" She dodged a shove from both brothers and ran back to the car, laughing.

With the plan to fool Ed and Harry, ghost hunters extraordinaire, complete, Abby, Dean, and Sam went to a nearby café to wait and see what happened.

They were tucked into a booth, polishing off a well-deserved lunch. Sam sat with Abby's computer, refreshing the Hell Hound's website incessantly, while Abby fiddled with her cellphone, absentmindedly considering when she should phone Jen.

Dean tugged on the string of a piece of horrendous 3D artwork of a fisherman on the wall. A highly annoying cackle sounded from the fisherman's mouth. Abby and Sam looked up to Dean sharply, and he smiled innocently.

Abby returned to her cellphone when the laugh sounded again. Dean's grin widened. Sam rolled his eyes towards Abby with an _ignore-him-he's-such-a-child_ look, and Abby just nodded inattentively, leaning over to steal one of Dean's fries.

After the fifth attempt at ignoring his brother, Sam grabbed Dean's hand as it rose to pull the string again. "If you pull that string one more time I'm gunna kill you." He declared solemnly.

With a deadpan look, Dean stared at Sam and pulled the cord again. Sam's hand darted up to stop it as Dean sniggered.

"Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you're way too tense."

The brothers stared at each other, and Abby got the distinct impression that one or both were going to explode. Not good.

"Anything posted on the website yet?" she asked hopefully, trying to distract the oncoming battle. The brothers looked startled to remember she was still there.

Sam wordlessly moved the laptop around so Abby and Dean could see it, stabbing moodily at his salad as Dean read the page.

"'We've learned from a reputable, attractive source – '" Dean paused to shoot a look at the girl next to him before continuing, "'that Mordecai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms.' All right, so we know this kid has it hot for little Abigail here, but how long do we wait before we can gank this thing?"

"Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change. I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker." Sam held his beer out to Abby and Dean, who grabbed their own and tapped it in cheers.

Dean was in the middle of a long drink when he caught Sam's wide smile. He went to go put his bottle down but it stuck to his hand. Dean stared at it, confused, as his brother laughed.

"You didn't."

"I did!" Sam held up a tube of super glue, laughing. Reveling in his victory, Sam pulled the string of the fisherman, laughing along with the artwork.

"See you at the motel, sucker!" Sam got up, still snickering, and left the café with a strut in his step.

"Son of a bitch," cursed Dean, wagging the bottle up and down.

Abby had watched the entire scene unfold with trepidation. This was going to seriously piss of Dean, and a pissed of Dean was like a bull in a china shop.

She put a hand tentatively on the angry hunter's shoulder, and his frustrated gaze flicked up to meet hers.

"Let's go wash this off, 'kay?" she suggested gently.

Dean's eyes softened, "You know how?"

Abby smiled, "Some hot water, soap, and patience. Not a problem."

They headed to the café's bathroom, and Abby pointedly ignored the sniggering from the teenagers sitting at a neighboring booth who were watching them head into the washroom together. Would the scandals never end?

Dean was bitching about his brother, plotting a very detailed, frankly disturbing, and potentially illegal revenge. Abby just let him blow off some steam as she filled up the sink with hot soapy water.

"C'mere," she tugged on his hand that was stuck to the bottle, and gently submerged them under the water. She lifted a soapy hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. It was getting steamy from the water, and Abby had been leaving her hair down for the most part since Dean had suggested it a couple nights earlier.

She looked up at Dean, and was yet again surprised at how close he was standing. _Was that a hunter talent, sneaking up on unsuspecting prey? Am I unsuspecting prey?_ Abby shook the thought from her mind and sent Dean a wide smile. He grinned back.

"Our antics must seem a little childish, huh?" asked Dean, leaning against the counter while his hand soaked.

Abby shook her head, "Nah. I mean, yeah I get a little worried that you guys might permanently maim one another by mistake, but I always figured siblings tease as a means of showing affection. It obvious you and Sam care about one another a lot."

Dean looked down and shrugged, "He's my brother, I look out for him," Dean looked back up and grinned, "But he can be a pain in the ass. He deserves a little messin' with!"

Abby laughed and checked Dean's hand. The soap was slowly loosening up the glue. Good thing Sam didn't buy the really high-quality stuff. "I sometimes wish I had that," she said distractedly, skimming her hand over the bottle.

"Had what?"

"A relationship like that. You know, that love. That loyalty."

Dean tilted his head, "What about your roommate? Jane?"

"Jen," corrected Abby, unexplainably satisfied that Dean didn't remember her hot friend's name, "And she's awesome. I love her. I need to call her," she noted to herself, "But she's a friend. I've known her for only a couple years. The only person I've really known for longer in your Dad."

"What, uh," Dean looked a bit uncomfortable, "what was he like with you. Dad, I mean."

Abby left Dean's hand to soak longer, leaning against the bathroom counter next to him. She crossed her arms over her chest and thought about it, "Well, he was sweet. Gruff, curt, but constantly kind," Abby smiled at the memories, staring ahead in thought. "I was always excited to see him. He just always seemed to know what was best, and he took all my problems seriously. He just…made me feel like he would make everything okay, yknow?"

She looked up and saw that Dean had a faraway look in his eyes. He smiled sadly, more to himself then to the girl in front of him. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Abby knew there were a lot of complicated issues in the Winchester family, and decided that it wasn't her place to intrude. If Sam or Dean wanted to talk about it, she'd be there to listen.

They shared a peaceful moment of silence in the washroom listening to the hum of the light, before Abby gave the bottle a sharp tug with no warning.

"Ow!" yelped Dean, pulling his now bottle-free hand out of the sink. He looked at her with betrayed puppy dog hurt.

"Oh, don't be a baby," laughed Abby, grabbing his hand and checking for any damage, "You're right as rain, Winchester!" She ran her fingers over his calloused palm, skimming her fingers over his.

She felt him shudder, and assumed his hand must be sore. She smiled comfortingly and looked up to see Dean looking earnestly back down at her. He was so close; she could see the smattering of freckles across his face. They stood like that for a moment until Abby realized she was still holding his hand, standing barely a foot away. She blushed and let go, letting her hair fall into her face while stepping back.

"We should, uh, go get ready for tonight!" she stuttered.

"Yeah, good plan, big hunt," answered Dean, running his hand through his hair uneasily, relying on monosyllabic words.

The teenagers in the booth laughed outright as they watched the blushing couple speedily file out of the bathroom and head out the door.


End file.
